


Il Maestro

by Shotgun_sinner



Series: After the Fall [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Has a Cat, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Phone Sex, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_sinner/pseuds/Shotgun_sinner
Summary: Hannibal finds a kitten, and gets attached to it.Will adjusts to life with Hannibal as a cat lady.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: After the Fall [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852015
Comments: 30
Kudos: 260





	Il Maestro

**Author's Note:**

> This. This is a Twitter prompt and I legit don't know who from anymore. Probably CorneliaGrey haha. 
> 
> Just fluffy, sweet, domestic Hannigram. Two big ole fics in one day for my birthday weekend. They were both in editing phase, I'm not insane, hahaha

Hannibal is walking back to the hotel after leaving the home of the woman from whom he'd be purchasing his new harpsichord. It is in excellent condition, much to Hannibal's delight. All he needs to do is find someone in the area of he and Will's home to restring it in a decent set of cat gut strings, and it would be good as new to play. The exterior is, frankly, in need of extensive repair. The old woman used the surface of the harpsichord to keep her house plants all together, and the water marks, stains, and scratches are an offense to the craftmanship of the instrument.

Hannibal would have liked to buy from a reputable dealer but seeing as how Uncle Jack and the FBI are stalking the reputable dealers for such inquiries, he is forced to travel to find a used one in a private sale. 

In the ice-cold sleet and snow, and away from his husband.

Still, the trip is not in vain. He would be paying the woman a very fair price, and paying for its delivery to his house, all without alerting the FBI to anything at all. 

He wraps himself tighter in his coat, walking briskly in an effort to get back to his hotel quickly and get out of the cold, when he hears it in a pile of trash on the sidewalk next to him.

Just the tiniest, smallest, squeak of a noise, and Hannibal stops, looking towards the black garbage bags derisively. There's a kitten sat shaking in the icy slush, the little body matted with snow and ice. It's clearly not going to survive, as Hannibal estimates it can't be more than seven weeks old. It's black and white. A tuxedo cat, he muses. 

His first thought is to step on it and put it out of its misery, but he thinks of Will. His loving husband with his heart of gold for animals would want him to help it. Hannibal shivers on the sidewalk as he watches the tiny thing alternate its small paws, lifting them from the cold. He grumbles as he removes his handkerchief, wrapping the small animal easily in the fabric and cupping it to his three-thousand-dollar coat. "Come along, little one. You must be famished."

Once back in the hotel room, he calls room service and asks for a can of tuna fish, which gets him a rather rude scoff of disbelief with the assurance that it would be right up. He takes a towel from the bathroom and places it on the bed, unwrapping the kitten and placing it on the towel. It was still cold, clearly. It was also a terribly awkward thing, all gangly limbs and stiff tail, stumbling along the uneven duvet. He watches it with a scowl, willing it to not defecate on his bed.

The knock on the door signals that room service has arrived, and he takes the tray with a mumble of thanks and a ten-dollar tip. They've given him a dish besides the drained can of tuna, and he breaks apart the larger pieces and adds a little bit of water to make a mush before taking the small, wet, creature and putting it on the floor where it can hopefully eat. It smells the dish before it really sees it, and the little blob of fur hobbles over and into the dish, getting rather covered in tuna and eating with wet smacks of its lips. 

His scowl deepens as he watches it, wondering if it's too late to just kill it when his cell phone rings. 

He pulls it from his pocket, smiling as he sees who it is. "Beloved," he sighs.

"Hello darlin'," his treasured husband drawls in the way that sends little shocks of pleasure through his limbs. He's been gone for exactly eleven hours, and he misses him dearly already. "So, do we have a harpsichord now, or what?"

"We do, actually," Hannibal grins, turning a scowl to the floor as the kitten decides it has finished eating and wants to trek canned fish around the hotel room floor. he scoops it up deftly in one palm and carries it to the bathroom, adjusting the phone into the crook of his neck so he could wrangle the small creature into the bathroom sink for a wash. "It needs to be restrung, and at some point, it will need to be refinished, but otherwise it was worth the trip. I've paid her and arranged a delivery for early next week."

"I’m so happy for you. I know you’ve missed playing," Will says, and Hannibal can hear the smile in his voice. 

Hannibal fills the sink with a bit of warm water, placing the squawking creature in the basin, lathering him up in a bit of hand soap. It really had quite a set of lungs for something so unassuming, and Will huffs on the line. "Hannibal, what is that noise?"

"There was a kitten in the rubbish pile on the side of the street," he says distastefully while scrubbing the little objecting creature in his hands. "It was nearly frozen stiff. I debated killing it to put it out of its misery but decided against it when I thought of you."

"You... saved a kitten?" Will asks, and he doesn't need to be present to know his beloved's eyebrows are shot to his hairline in disbelief.

"Yes," Hannibal tells him, rinsing the kitten with palmfuls of water, much to the little terror’s dismay. "It was starving and cold. I asked myself what my beloved would do, and here I am, washing a flea-infested cat in the bathroom sink of a five-star hotel."

There is silence on the line for long enough that Hannibal briefly considers that the call may have been dropped when Will speaks again. “You… you’re bathing a kitten. That you rescued. You. You saved it?” The incredulity of his husband’s tone was almost insulting.

“Will,” he sighs. “Yes, I’ve saved it. For now. It may die, but not by my hand, at least.” 

"Did you try feeding it?" Will asks, and the concern in his voice for the little cat is endearing.

"I gave it a can of tuna that I mushed with water. Not ideal for the long run, but better than nothing at all." He scoops the freshly cleaned creature from the sink, wrapping it in a hand towel and drying it between his long fingers. "It is in fact a he, by the way."

"Are you... are we keeping him? I've never really had cats," Will says slowly. "And we have two dogs. Who knows what they'll do to a kitten. How young are we talking?"

"Seven weeks, no more," Hannibal says easily. He had many cats around the manor as a child, and they had litters frequently enough that he was comfortable in his assessment. Mischa loved them, and he recalls her naming them, her small hands full of writhing fur balls, every one of them named after various fruits. He glances down at the little mangy thing, wondering what Mischa would have named him.

"That's young," Will sighs. "Are you bringing him home, or to a shelter?"

"To a shelter tomorrow once I'm back home. I want to see you, Will," he says lowly, and very rather urgently. 

"I miss you, too," Will laughs, and he can hear the dogs barking in the background. "I've got to let our dogs outside, maybe take them for a little w-a-l-k." Hannibal chuckles as Will spells out the word, as their dogs lose all sense of reason if you use the 'w' word and then do not make good on the offer.

"I'll leave you to it," Hannibal says reluctantly, rubbing the towel between the ears of the tiny cat in his hands. "I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Love you," Will sighs. "Hurry back to me, please."

"Goodnight, beloved," Hannibal closes his eyes, imagining his warm, bright, living room full of the life and energy of his beautiful husband and their wild dogs, and the homesickness his feels is almost excruciating.

"Goodnight, darlin'," Will drawls, and the line disconnects. 

Hannibal sighs as he tucks his phone back into his slacks pocket, settling out on the bed with his temporary companion. "You are a tuxedo cat," he muses, lifting the small cat up to look at him better. “I couldn’t be sure with how unbelievably filthy you were.”

It mews at him in protest, its little legs stiff and angry at the manhandling it's getting. Hannibal finds himself smiling without realizing it. "It is rather rude of me to be so forward, isn't it?" he asks it, and it mews in response again. It has a rather dashing little white stripe across its upper lip, and it curls ever so gently on each side, almost like a mustache. "Very distinguished little fellow," he chuckles, smoothing his pinkie against the mustache in delight. The mew it makes is huge, and Hannibal settles it on the bed to roam as it pleases. 

He watches it for a while, attacking the blankets and his feet, chuckling at its tenacity. He settles it onto the floor, changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth. When he comes out of the bathroom, he watches the kitten hobble about, attacking his shoes and diving inside of them. He takes a towel from the bathroom and places it inside a deep empty drawer of the dresser, placing the cat inside where it can sleep for the night and effectively giving it a place to defecate if it needs to.

He grimaces as he looks down at it, circling the drawer with indignation. “I cannot trust you to wander about. You’re in a prison of your own making,” he tells it. 

He climbs into the bed and shuts off the light, and he’s drifting off when the kitten begins mewing. It’s quiet at first, and he’s resolved that he can ignore it. The tiny little creature with the lungs of steel begins a cacophony of mews, steadily growing louder and louder until it reaches a crescendo, and Hannibal grits his teeth and struggles not to snap its neck.

He flips back the covers bitterly, clicking on the light and storming over to the drawer, where he notices that the cat has urinated on the towel. He also notices that the mewing stops the moment the tiny creature sees him, and he lifts it curiously, holding it to his shoulder while looking at it with a frown. It immediately begins purring, and even that seems like too big of a noise for the minuscule thing to make. He chuckles, rubbing a finger between the space of its ears. “You have quite a set of lungs on you,” he chuckles. “ _Il maestro dell'opera_.” 

He carries it to the bed with a clean towel, placing it firmly in the center of it. “If you will cease your caterwauling, you may sleep by me.” He leans over it as he settles into the bed. “If you urinate or defecate on this bed, _Il maestro_ , it will be the last thing you do.”

The kitten seems heedless of his warnings, squishing the towel between its shifting paws, purring contentedly. 

He clicks off the light, settling in to sleep when he feels the awkward thing clambering up his stomach, settling out against his shoulder by his pillow. Its curled itself into the tiniest ball, all while purring merrily. Its face is tipped up at him, little white mustache stark against the black of his face.

He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s smiling as he drifts off to sleep.

Luckily for Il Maestro, he does not urinate or defecate on the bed that night, and he gets another can of tuna for being a good boy before Hannibal tucks him into his breast pocket, taking him for his first train ride.

Before he goes home, he stops at a pet store and buys everything the sales associate suggests, including the most expensive food, formulated specifically for kittens. He wants to do what Will does and make Maestro his food from scratch, but that would require some research. In the meantime, he may eat the sixty-dollar bag of dry food that he has.

He’s stuffing all of the purchases into the trunk of his Bentley, and even then, he’s telling himself that he’s doing it for Will.

When he arrives home, finally, Maestro has had it with his coat pocket, and being held in general. Will is in the backyard with the dogs, so Hannibal takes a moment to head into his study with the kitten and the bags of things he’d purchased. The first thing he does is set up the litterbox, adding some litter to the bottom and dropping Maestro into it. The sales associate assured him that cats just knew what to do, but he doubts it. It had taken Will months to get the dogs to that level of understanding. 

Sure enough, after making quite a spectacle, Maestro defecates and covers it demurely. Hannibal huffs at the haughty way he covers it, kicking sand out of the box and into the air. He clambers out, heading over to the plastic bag where his new scratch post was. Hannibal remove it and places it on the rug, and the cat immediately clambers up the post, swatting inefficiently at the spring at the top of it.

He chuckles, watching the little creature expel some energy when he hears the dogs come into the house. Hannibal leaves Maestro for a moment, eager to see Will after a day apart. His dogs are close by his hips, wagging their tails affectionately, and Hannibal absently pats them in greeting before heading to his beautiful husband, who’s smiling so widely it makes Hannibal’s chest ache just looking at him. 

“Hey handsome,” Will greets him, wrapping his arms around his neck and dragging him down for a kiss. Melville, their golden retriever, is terribly jealous of the attention that Will is getting and making whining noises in his throat as they kiss like they haven’t seen each other in years instead of only a day. Hannibal missed him. He couldn’t pull the man close enough to his body, couldn’t kiss him deeply enough to sate the desire he felt for him. 

The tiny, angry, hiss from the other room makes Will pull away, his face flushed, and his lips reddened deliciously. “Hannibal, did you bring the kitten home?”

Hannibal nips at his lovely jawline, shrugging his shoulders. “I could not suffer him to a shelter. Maestro is different from other cats,” he says, as if it’s not the strangest thing he could have said.

Will stares at him, his gorgeous ocean eyes holding a note of concern in them. “You… you named it?”

“ _Il Maestro_ ,” Hannibal laughs. “He has quite a set of lungs in him. He sings, Will.”

“You named you cat _Il Maestro_ ,” Will says slowly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the smile Hannibal can tell he’s trying to hold back. “Because… because it sings?” 

Hannibal takes him by the wrist, tugging him into the study where the kitten is performing a dominant display of predatory warning against their beagle, Sadie. His little spine is arched, his fur raised, and his ears flat. Sadie looks properly chastised about assuming friendship, when clearly the little monster is not interested.

He scoops up the indignant little cat, cradling it in his large palm and displaying him to Will. “We already have two dogs; I fail to see how adding a cat to our home is a matter of concern.”

Will takes the mewing little cat into his hands, holding him up with a grin. “He’s got a mustache,” he laughs.

“He also doesn’t care for being gawked at,” Hannibal says seriously, scooping the kitten out of Will’s hands and placing him against his shoulder where it settles itself comfortably.

“He likes you,” Will laughs, and it’s like his dearest husband almost can’t believe he’s saying it. “Okay, well, if we’re keeping him, I’ve got to make a few vet appointments. He needs to be dewormed and fixed.”

“He will not be emasculated,” Hannibal says sternly, patting the creature soothingly against his shoulder where it purrs like a motor. “He will always be free to follow his baser instincts.”

“An un-neutered male cat’s natural instinct is to piss on everything in the house to attract a female,” Will says carefully, his eyebrow arching as Hannibal clears his throat.

“Perhaps then that will be the one baser instinct I will suppress,” Hannibal frowns, looking down at the cat against his shoulder as if he’s trying to decide if he would ever do such a thing. “I will defer to your judgement.”

“Okay,” Will smiles, reaching out to drag a few fingers gently against his spine. The little cat wiggles away from his fingers, smashing himself against Hannibal’s shoulder to get away from the attention. Will frowns, taking his hand away as Hannibal reaches up and strokes the little thing, and it writhes in pleasure from his attentions. 

“He’s already your cat,” Will chuckles. “You’ve made a friend, Hannibal.”

Hannibal leans forward and presses a kiss to his beloved’s smiling mouth, tucking his free hand against his favorite spot on the side of his sharp jawline. “He will be our cat, Will. Much like Melville loves us both, little Maestro will learn to love you, too. Just as I do.”

It’s several months later, and Will recalls that memory clearly as he stares at the almost full-grown cat glaring at him against the side of Hannibal’s hip on their sofa. Maestro has decidedly not taken an interest in Will, nor their dogs. He’s a vicious little beast, swatting at the dog’s snouts whenever they come too near and growling whenever they’re just a hair too close. 

Will is currently trying to figure out how he’s going to cuddle up to his husband when the little terror is curled against his side so affectionately. Hannibal’s long fingers stroke his fur, and the cat looks blissful about the attention with his body language, but his eyes are disdainful as they regard Will.

“What’s wrong, beloved?” Hannibal asks, glancing up from his novel. 

“I’d like to, uh, cuddle up. Your cat is being a jerk right now, though.”

Hannibal purses his lips, glancing down at the sprawled cat against his hip. “What is he doing that’s unsavory?”

“He’s glaring at me,” Will says, and he blushes when he realizes how ridiculous that sounds. 

“Nonsense,” Hannibal chuckles. “Come on, Maestro, over here.” He pats the arm of the sofa and the damned thing stretches gracefully, crawling across his lap to settle against the arm of the sofa, facing Hannibal. He’s purring like a motor as Hannibal strokes under his chin, and Will rolls his eyes as he settles against his husband’s side, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

Hannibal presses a kiss to his temple, his hand that isn’t touching his cat coming over his shoulders to trail against his spine. “He can feel that you do not like him,” Hannibal tells him.

“He didn’t like me the moment you brought him in the door,” Will sulks. The cat is still glaring at him, and Will turns away from it in annoyance. “He sure loves you, though. You spoil him rotten.”

He does, too. The cat is otherworldly, and Will is almost afraid of the stupid thing. Hannibal trained him to go in their backyard, and the cat never strays further than their fence. He buys it feeder mice occasionally, letting the poor little mice free into the backyard and then letting Maestro free to hunt them. He’s incredibly good at it, and not a single unfortunate mouse has ever escaped his wrath.

He always brings their mangled carcasses to Hannibal affectionately, almost displaying their gutted corpses on the back-porch landing. Hannibal always preens and praises him for his kills, and Will, well. He finds all of it kind of disgusting.

He tries to warn Hannibal that cats destroy furniture, and it feels like the cat very specifically doesn’t do it just to be spiteful. He never goes on the leather sofa in the study, preferring instead to sit on the back of Hannibal’s chair at his desk, looking for all the world like an evil mastermind and his malevolent cat planning their next attempt at world domination.

The cat has a water fountain to drink from. Some ridiculous device that filters the water and makes it pour like a fountain. Hannibal tells him that Maestro needs filtered water because male cats are prone to blockages in their urethras. 

He makes all of his food from scratch. The cat lives almost solely on heart and tuna with sardines. Hannibal tells him that cats require taurine, an amino acid, to survive. Muscles that work the hardest (heart, he supplies), contain the highest amount of taurine. So only the best for his little monster.

His study now has modern looking shelves mounted to the walls, artfully arranged so as not to look specifically like they are for a cat. The cat can get anywhere in the room now, simply by climbing all the different shelves and settling himself high above them like an ancient pharaoh. He rarely does though because his preference is always to be with Hannibal.

Hannibal hadn’t been kidding, either. His teeny little mews evolve into soulful, deep-throated crows for attention. If Hannibal steps out for the day, or even if Hannibal closes a door on him and he feels bereft of Hannibal’s attention, he croons endlessly until the door is opened or Hannibal returns to him.

It was nauseating.

Will refuses to have sex if the cat is in the room because the judgmental thing stares. It just stares as if waiting for Will to be done so he can crawl against Hannibal’s side, waiting his turn for affection.

It confuses Hannibal, but he concedes that if it makes Will more comfortable, then sure. The cat could wait outside and croon until they’ve finished.

Their sex life now has a soundtrack, performed exclusively by Il Maestro.

They settle against the sofa, and Will scrolls through Netflix until he gets to their newest obsession and clicks ‘continue watching’.

They started watching Dexter as a joke, thinking it would be some ridiculous serial killer melodrama.

It hits closer to home than either of them imagines it would. They glance at each other when they had first started watching it, their eyebrows raised in mirror images of one another. “We have a boat,” Will chuckles.

“I’ll look up the natural current paths,” Hannibal says with a smirk.

Will is unintentionally a lot like Dexter, and the parallels make Hannibal laugh. “He’s in law enforcement, remarkable in his field,” he teases. “He only kills those who he feels deserve it. You’re quite like him.”

“Yeah,” Will sighs, settling against his side, trailing his hand down his thigh while their cat glares at him. “The kill rooms he does are brilliant. It might be a little alarming to buy all that plastic sheeting, though.”

“Not if we purchase it online,” Hannibal tells him with a smirk while Maestro slinks along his lap, crawling over his chest and settling against his shoulder to sleep. He’s gotten too big to do this, and Will sits up to get his face away from the cat’s ass.

Will sighs, looking over at them. Hannibal looks bereft that Will has left his side, but not enough so to put the damned jealous cat back on the floor. He watches with a tight-lipped expression as Hannibal strokes his back, the cat nuzzling his chin affectionately as he does.

Will settles against his shoulder, taking whatever attention he can get. He’s trying not to be jealous of a cat, but he’s failing miserably.

It’s two weeks later when Hannibal announces that he’s got to take a weekend trip to go to an international bank to move money around in their accounts. Will wants to go with him, but he can’t. Not with two dogs and a cat in the house.

Hannibal assures him he’ll call the moment he gets there and head home the first flight that comes available, but Will is still sulking as he kisses his husband at the door. “I’ll miss you,” Will says softly, pressing another kiss to Hannibal’s mouth.

“I miss you already, beloved,” Hannibal sighs, gliding his long fingers through Will’s curls. “Take care of Maestro, please.”

Will rolls his eyes over Hannibal’s shoulder. “He’s going to be fine, Hannibal.”

He’s not, though. It’s the first time Hannibal has not been in the house for a night since he brought the haughty thing home with him, and Maestro is decidedly affronted and feeling abandoned. He croons in the dark rooms of the house, wandering in and out of Hannibal’s study. He goes to the bedroom and wanders the room, bellowing out into the different spaces and slinking around the house like a scorned lover.

Will feels remarkably just like Maestro does, and he takes pity on the cat. Will is settled on the sofa while their dogs sleep in front of the fireplace, and Will pats the spot next to him. “I know, Maestro. He’s coming back. Come here, and I’ll pet you.”

He pats the sofa again, and the cat just stares at him as though he’s gone mad. He leaves the room, completely unimpressed by Will’s attempt at friendship, and Will hears him crooning in the study again.

Will sighs, scratching at his jaw as he decides what to do. 

He gets up reluctantly, grabbing the jar of cat treats off the kitchen counter and bringing them into the study. He throws one at a time, and Maestro dashes to get each one, coming nearer and nearer with each new kibble Will takes out. Eventually, the cat is taking them from his fingers, purring hesitantly as he does.

Will pets him gently, and the cat looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to swat at him, run, or bask in it.

“You’re a lot like him,” he tells the independent creature. “I wormed my way into his life, and I’m pretty damned determined to worm myself into yours. Friends?”

The cat nuzzles gently at his fingertips, before walking away as though he’d never been there to begin with. 

Will sighs, clicking off the lights and heading to bed. The cat jumps up, wandering Hannibal’s empty side of the bed miserably. Will holds his hand out, and the cat comes to him hesitantly, settling against his hip and looking at him as though he’s never seen Will before in his life. Will strokes under his chin the way that Hannibal does, and the cat purrs reluctantly, as though still deciding if they’re friends.

“I’ve never had a cat, before,” he tells Maestro. “Hannibal had a bunch when he was a kid, but his sister took care of them. I think he saved you, not so much for me, but for her.”

The cat closes its eyes, tipping his chin up as Will rubs his finger along his little jaw. His cellphone rings from the end table, and he reaches for it and answers it with a smile. “Hi,” he says while grinning. 

“I hate being away from you,” is the immediate, gruff, response. “I can’t sleep. I’ve moved money around the accounts, and I should be home by tomorrow evening, the latest.”

Will smiles, tipping his face into Hannibal’s pillow to pick up the traces of his scent with his nose. “I hate when you’re not here, too. The house feels empty. Our bed feels empty….” Will sighs.

“Are you in bed, Beloved?” Hannibal asks, and his tone is just dark and lilting enough to make Will ache for him. 

“I am,” Will says just as suggestively. “In bed, in my underwear… I have my face on your pillow because it smells like you.”

Hannibal sighs, the breathy exhale sending shivers down Will’s spine. “And what is it that you’re doing, in our bed, on my pillow, in your underwear, Will?”

Will laughs, and Maestro gives him a stern look for jostling the bed. “Petting your cat. He’s curled up by my hip. He misses you just as much as I do, I guess.”

Hannibal chuckles, and the low purr of it makes Will smile. “I told you he likes you.”

“He’s using me because you’re not here,” Will says, scratching under Maestro’s chin while the cat purrs. “He’s spent the night looking for you everywhere and crooning in the study. I took pity on him and gave him treats until he let me touch him.”

“Treats are for when he does something favorable,” Hannibal scolds him mildly, but Will can hear the smile in his voice.

“Being friends with me is favorable,” Will chuckles, stretching on the mattress and tugging Hannibal’s pillow over to his side so he doesn’t have to crick his neck. “He’s so much like you, sometimes. It’s unsettling.”

“I think being compared to a cat might be offensive,” Hannibal replies dryly. 

Will laughs, tucking the phone tighter against his ear. “It’s not. He doesn’t let anyone in, aside from you. He’s ridiculously proud, and his coloring makes him look like he’s wearing a suit all the time, just like you. He’s terrifying when he’s killing the little mice you let him murder, and the savagery of it reminds me of you, when we kill together. He also purrs when I touch him, and it reminds me of that gravelly moan you make in your throat when I’m touching you, sometimes.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and Will takes the phone away from his ear to make sure the call wasn’t disconnected, somehow. “I think I’m offended,” Hannibal says eventually. “And possibly jealous of my own cat. He’s in bed with you, writhing from your touch, while I sit bereft of your presence in a cold hotel room.”

Will rolls his eyes. “When you get home tomorrow, I stroke you till you’re purring for me, darlin’.”

The guttural little moan he gets in response sends heat through his gut, and he shifts minutely on the bed. “What would you do first?”

Will bites his lip as the first stirrings of arousal flare in his gut, his cock taking interest in the conversation. “I’d kiss you, because I love the feel of your tongue and lips against mine.”

“Mm,” Hannibal agrees, a little sigh of pleasure echoing on the line. “What else?”

“I’d lace my fingers through your hair, and intentionally mess it up. I like you a little disheveled. I’d kiss down to your throat, because I love to smell your aftershave under my nose and the feel of your skin against my lips.”

“Will,” Hannibal sighs, and Will picks up the sounds of harsher breathing. Will makes a noise in his throat, and he hand snakes down his boxers and grips himself, stroking gently.

“I’d weave my fingers into your chest hair, tugging it a little bit so you make that hissing noise that I love so much. I’d sooth the sting by tugging your nipples with my teeth. Maybe I’ll prep myself before you get home, so I’ll be stretched and wet, ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.”

The guttural moan from his husband on the other end of the line makes Will arch his back as he thrusts into his fist. “I want your mouth on me, first,” Hannibal admits, and his voice sounds ruined. “I want your beautiful mouth around me while you look up at me. The noises you make when my cock is down your throat, Will,” he moans.

“Because I love the taste of you on my tongue,” Will admits while twisting his wrist and jerking himself harder. “Are you touching yourself, Doctor Lecter? Because I am.”

The response he gets almost sends him over the edge. A desperate, throaty, moan that Will knows is accompanied by Hannibal tilting his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. “Yes, Will.”

“I’d fuck you with my mouth for a while, but only to get the taste of you on my tongue. Once I’m satisfied, Hannibal, fuck.” Will says desperately, gripping his cock tightly to keep from coming just yet. “I’d straddle your waist and take your cock inside of me. Can you feel me around you, Hannibal?”

“Yes,” Hannibal moans, and there’s harsh breathing for a moment. “Your tight body clenching around me, so eager to please me. Will,” Hannibal groans. 

“So eager to please you,” Will agrees with a long moan while he jerks himself harder. “But your pleasure is mine, Hannibal. I love having you inside me, I want it, oh God, I want it,” Will pants while arching his back, thrusting into his fist desperately.

“Will,” Hannibal says desperately, and it’s followed by a guttural moan, and Will knows he’s coming. It’s all it takes, imagining Hannibal’s wet mouth parted, his eyes clenched tight while the muscles in his abdomen clench. He can practically feel Hannibal’s cock jerking, the hot ropes of come landing on his chest and stomach. Will wishes he were there to clean it up with his tongue. The thought sends him over the edge, stuttering out a moan as he comes in his boxers.

There’s harsh breathing between them, and Hannibal chuckles. “I miss you,” he says breathlessly.

Will glances down at himself, and he blushes scarlet when he realizes that Maestro is just sitting there, watching him disdainfully. He grimaces at the cat, shooing him off the bed. “I miss you, too.”

Hannibal sighs, “I have to get my phone to a charger.”

Will smiles at that, biting his lip. “I have to go change my boxers,” he laughs.

“I love you. So dearly.”

Will grips the phone tighter in his clean hand, dropping his head back to Hannibal’s pillow. “And I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Come back to me as soon as you can, please.”

Hannibal chuckles, “As soon as I am able to. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” Will says miserably, ending the call with a jab of his thumb. 

He crawls from the bed and cleans himself up, changing his boxers before climbing back into the bed. Maestro returns, looking properly insulted at being shooed away, but he settles out against Will’s hip with all the regality of royalty, tipping his chin up and demanding attention.

Will chuckles, scratching at his chin while the cat purrs. “I hope we’re still friends when he comes home,” he says with an arch of his eyebrow. “You’re not so bad.”

He falls asleep with the cat’s face in his palm, and his face pressed to Hannibal’s pillow.

The following morning, Maestro seems content to follow Will around the house. It’s almost sweet, having a little companion that’s interested in him this way. Will has always thought that dogs were smarter than cats, but there’s an intelligence to Maestro that’s almost… alarming. He’s aware of Will, and what he’s doing. He watches him make his morning coffee from the kitchen counter stool. He leaps into the tub to lick the water from the tub as soon as he’s out of the shower. He follows Will outside to water their vegetable garden, watching him with narrowed, mistrustful eyes as Will diddles with the hose. 

When Will goes inside and starts working on his fishing lures for the following weekend, Maestro is there, swatting at the feathers and purring merrily. Will finds himself smiling at the ridiculous thing and its sudden attachment to him.

Will decides that he really is going to prep himself for Hannibal’s return home. He’s got a couple of steaks marinating for the grill once they’re… sated. He takes the dogs for one more walk, and then he heads into the bathroom and grabs their bottle of lube to get ready for Hannibal. The easiest way is to use the plug, so he does so, grimacing as he presses it inside. Whenever Hannibal got home, he’d be ready.

The cat sits with him on the couch as he flips through channels idly, petting the cat who seems thrilled by the attention. He knows Hannibal is home because Maestro sits up abruptly, his ears perked, and then he’s off.

Will grins and shuts the TV off, hauling ass to their bedroom where he strips his clothes quickly. He hears the front door open as he yanks the plug out, thrusting a few lubed fingers inside of himself before settling on the bed in what he hopes to be an alluring pose. He’s winded from running up the stairs, and he knows he’s flushed from the frantic strip and fingering he’s given himself, but he blows the curls from his forehead, facing the door as he sprawls on the bed, thighs parted so Hannibal can see what he’s done.

He’s half-hard, and it only takes a few strokes before he’s aching. 

That’s what Hannibal walks into.

Hannibal opens the bedroom door with Maestro perched on his shoulder, “Will, are you resti-“

His mouth falls open at the sight he finds, and Will grins at him from lowered lashes. “Took you long enough, darlin’.”

Hannibal sets the cat in the hallway and closes the bedroom door, turning to Will with blown out pupils. “How long have you been here like this? Flushed, aching?”

“Like five minutes,” Will laughs, arching his spine and gripping his cock. “Come here, gorgeous.”

Maestro begins his opera in the hallway, and Hannibal laughs while he’s stripping out of his clothes. The moan from Will is almost in perfect harmony with the cat in the hallway. Soon he’s crawling up the bed, glorious, golden, muscles flexing as he settles himself between Will’s thighs. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” He asks Will, his voice lilting over the consonants in a way that makes Will have to grip his cock a little tighter. 

“Not any more beautiful than you, _fuck_ , Hannibal,” Will moans as Hannibal swats his hand away and takes him down his throat in one easy glide. His cock nestles against the back of his throat, where Hannibal swallows once, constricting around him sinfully. 

Hannibal works him with his mouth expertly. They’ve been together so many times that Hannibal plays him like his harpsichord, now. He knows just where and how long to press to make Will sing his praises.

Hannibal pulls away from him with a smirk. He knew Will was close, and Will didn’t need to say a fucking thing. “I’ve missed you,” Hannibal sighs while pressing himself into Will’s loosened body.

He slides in easily, and they both moan as he seats himself inside. “God, I missed you,” Will breathes out, arching his back while Hannibal wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him up until his was straddling his thighs. Will adjusts for the position, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck for leverage while their mouths reacquaint themselves, their tongues sliding and lips gliding against one another. Will rocks his hips down, and Hannibal thrusts his up, and they’re gasping into the caverns of each other’s mouths, panting as they take their pleasure. 

He’s never tired of this. _Never_. Six years together and he still aches for him like its brand new. He knew that it would be like this, though. Hannibal isn't another person; he is Will’s other half. Being with him this way is like making himself whole, and he needs it as much as he needs to breathe.

Every lift and drop of his hips sparks pleasure. Hannibal’s body was made for him, and his cock hits that spot inside of him perfectly, every time. His large hands cup his ass, dragging him closer, deeper. As if wanting Will to take his whole body inside of him. 

Their moans and sighs grow louder, drowning out the symphony of Maestro’s solo, their hips crashing as desperately as their mouths. “Will,” Hannibal says desperately, tugging Will’s head back by lacing one of his hands into his curls. His mouth suckles a bruise on the side of his throat, his favorite place to put his mouth, if Will’s being honest.

His other hand leaves Will’s ass to wrap around his cock, stroking him in time with Will’s pace, and it doesn’t take much more than that before Will is slamming his hips down, rolling them over Hannibal harshly before he’s coming between their stomachs, moaning as his body clamps around Hannibal and pulls him across the finish line. 

They’re chuckling as they kiss, fingers tracing damp skin while Maestro decides to try mewing pitifully for attention. “He missed you too, I think,” Will says softly through panted breath.

“I see that,” Hannibal agrees while mouthing at Will’s collarbone. 

There’s a faint hiss outside the door, and a whine of misery from one of their dogs. They had to get up, but they didn’t want to.

“The joys of having pets,” Will muses, pressing soft kisses against Hannibal’s cheekbone. 

“Did Maestro make friends?” he asks, his long fingers tracing the arch of Will’s spine and making Will shiver.

“Yeah,” Will replies distractedly. “He slept with me. He licked the tub when I got out of the shower. He spent all day with me, actually.”

"Told you," Hannibal laughs.

They climb from the bed reluctantly, each cleaning up in the bathroom quickly and getting dressed before opening the door to a pissed off cat and two over-excited dogs. They make dinner together and settle out on the sofa, where Maestro immediately makes it known that he’s forgotten about Will entirely. He settles out on Hannibal’s shoulder, purring and pressing his face to Hannibal’s chin while Hannibal chuckles and pets him.

Will’s not offended, really. Hannibal loves two living things in this world; Will and Maestro. Will gets why Maestro chooses Hannibal. 

Will chose him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Maestro is based off my cat, Oliver. Mustache, singing, and all. 
> 
> *We do not give him mice, but he is unrealistically violent when he catches flies.


End file.
